22 March to 15 June 2020

My flights from Coyhaique to Santiago, and Santiago to New York had been cancelled, rescheduled, and cancelled with regularity. Chile was now facing its own pandemic crisis. Leadership, if one can call it that, in the US, continued to be horrifyingly askew. News reports were grim worldwide.

But when arriving back at Carpe Diem in Coyhaique I’d received a warm welcome from Roxana, Cesar, and their young daughter Victoria the evening before. I’d slept well, started a fire in the wood burning stove, made some breakfast, and looked out from my cozy dome while sipping my coffee and enjoyed the view.

I was grateful for the comfort of my home and the warmth of the fire. I felt safe and rested, having slept nearly eleven hours in a delicious bed.

However, concerns remained. I again checked the status of my flights. None were scheduled.

I called the American Embassy in Chile. A man with a pleasant voice answered quickly. I explained my situation, and asked about flights. He sounded calm and personable, and spoke to me as if he had all the time in the world. “I cannot advise you personally,” he said. And added, “I can only give you the official word. Special flights are being arranged for nationals to get back to the US–for now. Return immediately, or be prepared to stay in Chile for an indefinite time.”

Risk of exposure to the virus on planes and in New York, now the epicenter, was deemed high. The thought of going there, or anywhere, was losing its appeal.  But I still hadn’t made up my mind.

I’d shared my concerns with Roxana and Cesar. They were not only sympathetic but calming and kind. They told me I was welcome to stay as long as I needed to and proposed an arrangement, if I should stay, so generous I had to refuse and propose another. I didn’t know them well, but I knew their caring was sincere. They’d made me comfortable, in every sense, from the first moments we’d met. They were now inviting me to share their wonderful refuge. But was I ready to stay there indefinitely?

I kept hearing The Clash’s “Should I Stay or Should I Go” in my head.

I went outside to get some air. The sun was strong and the chill of the morning was all but gone. I sat on a low bench, and Chispita, their dog, came over to me. I’d met her during my first stay when she’d approached me, then rolled over immediately so I could rub her belly.

This time she sat before me. I stroked her neck and head while thinking, “Should I stay or should I go?” Chispita lifted her paw and rested it on my hand, as if telling me to stay.

—–

I’d been traveling at a steady pace for years. Change had been the constant. And then it wasn’t. I didn’t know when I’d be traveling again. Coyhaique suddenly, and unexpectedly, became my home, indefinitely.

——-

Speaking with family and friends throughout the globe was comforting, but everyone was affected. We were all adjusting, as best we could, to this strange, new world.

My mind was incapable of focusing on more than one thing at a time, and that one thing was often the news. Getting much done was impossible.

But a stream of smiles, warm hellos, and gentle concerns from Roxana and Cesar insuring I had everything I needed, brought me joy, despite the challenging times. Their young daughter Victoria quickly lost her shyness and was soon sharing her latest creation with me, made from assorted materials–always imaginative and colorful.

It took no time at all to develop a profound bond with this family. They became mi familia. Our many hours together, where discussions covered every topic imaginable, were always a pleasure and often filled with laughter.

—

Above my home the hills fanned out and initially seemed so steep I was intimidated to venture very far. It was like being at the top of a ski slope where I couldn’t see the bottom, except in reverse.

But there was comfort in knowing I couldn’t get lost. No matter where I ended up, heading down would eventually get me back home.

I started hiking up into the hills gradually exploring the terrain more and more.

Cesar presented me with a walking stick. He’d wrapped the handle for comfort and carved my name into its side. My cherished gift fit perfectly in my hand. I never hiked without it.

I often say walking is my sanity, whether for a short stroll or long hike. It has always brought me peace of mind. It’s a chance to stimulate the senses and appreciate the nuanced beauty of nature–true magic. I get out of my head and fully experience the moment.

And hiking with dogs is one of my greatest joys. Chispita and Patas became my hiking companions extraordinaire. (I’d be amiss in not mentioning the other members of the family: the horse, Guenazo, the cats, Panda and Milagro, and a few chickens, but their role in my life cannot be compared.)

When setting out each afternoon, I rarely had a destination in mind, even when I became familiar with the area. I’d often follow a path to see where it would go. I’d assumed these paths had been made by hikers–little did I know that cows have their favorite routes too. But sometimes these paths ended up in a bramble so dense I’d have to follow or create another.

Chispita and Patas, mis compañeros, when around, were delighted to accompany me and although they ran freely, they enjoyed staying near. However, the temptation to dash off and taunt the grazing cows or chase a pheasant deep from the brush, was always satisfied.

No matter how far they wandered, Chispita and Patas would come running back to me, often with their tongues hanging from their panting mouths.

While exploring I’d found a few favorite places with spectacular views. There I’d stop and drink some tea I’d brought in a thermos Roxana had given me. (She’d made sure I had something warm to drink on my excursions–and often brought over soup or a snack for my return.)

I came to call these pauses the “love fest.”

Patas would either drop himself on my lap, his body stretched out for maximum comfort–his own, not mine (He is really too big to be a lap dog.)–or sit by my side. I’d dig my hands into his fur while he looked blissful. I imagined if he could, he’d purr.

Chispita would patiently wait her turn then gently lean into me. (Patas was reluctant to share my affection and usually made it difficult for me to pet them at the same time.) Chispita could be fierce and tough when she had to be, but in my hands she would be relaxed and tender.

Admittedly, I enjoyed these moments too.

——-

I tried to limit my trips into town for essential shopping only. Although the region had very few Covid cases, and residents dutifully kept their distance, were respectful and wore masks, I was only too pleased to return home again to the joy and comfort with mi familia and mis compañeros.

—–

It is easy to see the new while traveling, when surroundings are constantly changing. Now, I was rarely more than a few miles from home. My days quickly took on a routine, but the new nonetheless was revealed.

There was always something to observe: the sky’s spectrum of blues and greys, the snow upon the distance mountains thinned and thickened with the cold and thaw.

The grass, trees, and shrubs slowly lost the summer’s lushness and took on the burnish of fall.

Winter was approaching.

And then I received news that some flights were resuming. The number of Covid cases in NY were stabilizing and I’d needed to go and take care of some things.

I thought it best to travel while I still could and booked the flights.

—–

It has been quite a challenge to describe the extraordinary experience I had in Chile with mi familia and express my heartfelt gratitude for all their kindness.

Have I adequately conveyed all the laughter, joy, and wonderful moments we shared?

Have I done justice in showing and describing the breathtaking beauty of Chile and the generosity of the people I met there?

I think not.

But I do know that these memories are woven with an abounding love that will not fade.